LoveIsNotAnEquation, ItIsNotAContract, AndItIsNotAHappyEnding
by CaptainGrebenshchikov8
Summary: There seemed to be no hope in a world like this. Pray all you want, them tell you, no God will save you.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Love Is Not AContract,It Is Not An Equation ,And It Is Not A Happy Ending

Relationship(s): Sidney Crosby/Cristiano Ronaldo,Carvina Carvalho/Ricardo Carvalho, Iker Casillas/Sara Conbonero, Marc-Andre Fleury/Veronique Fleury, Mario Lemieux/Nathalie Lemieux, James Neal/Paul Martin, Jonathan Toews/Patrick Kane

This was inspired by the Hunger Games series by Suzanne Collins. I've wanted to write this for a while, but I never got around to it. This was originally posted on archiveofourown dot org under my account. So don't be alarmed.

If you have any questions, concern, or opinions, leave them in the comments and I'll get back to you ASAP.

This goes unbeta'd, so forgive me for any mistakes.

Disclaimer: I own nothing and no one. I make no money from this.

Chapter One:

In the year 3015, the world was half way into losing a war against the power of the mighty Australians. Three months and two years later, they successfully took over all the world with the help of Russia, Germany, England, and the United States of America.

On October 21st, 3017, no more than seven months into their victory, then president Michael Richardson created a tournament that tests the strengths of their children, aptly named the 'World Games'.

USA, Canada, Portugal, Argentina, England, Germany, Spain, Sweden, Russia, and Uruguay all had an annual reaping. Sending two boys into the World Games.

In the ninty-ninth Game, Luis Suarez from Uruguay had been diagnosed with a mental disorder after he consistently bit his opponents. He was killed by the Game makers (though they deny it), and his country was pulled from the games and replaced by France.

The one hundredth game is projected to be the best of them all. One hundred years of entertainment for the Capital (held in Sydney, Australia), one hundred years of support for the wealthy countries (USA, Germany, Russia, England), and one hundred years of endless torture, unfair treatment, and starvation for everyone else.

There seemed to be no hope in a world like this. Pray all you want, they say, no God will help you.

Sidney Crosby rakes his fingers through his hair in an attempt to keep the curls down. When that fails, he sighs, turning around to face his baby sister. Taylor technically isn't a baby because she's ten years old, but he all always call her that.

"You ready to go?" Trina, his mother, asks in her soft voice.

Sid pats Taylor's head, "Ready as I'll ever be."

Sidney already won the Games three years ago. He had to kill three tributes. Two from Argentina, the other from Spain. He hadn't wanted to, but he had to come back for Taylor, for his mother. His father, Troy, died two months after his sister's birth and he was the only one who could take care of them.

Since he already won, Sidney can't be chosen again. But he still has to sit with the other victors and see who he'll be mentoring. He also has a friend, James Neal, who turns eighteen in a few months, making this his last reaping.

The commons area in which the event takes place isn't to far away, taking them a mere ten minutes to walk there. Sidney tries not to look at the twelve years old who are entering their name for the first time, or the families on the sidelines, tears streaking down their cheeks and hands pressed together as they pray. It always breaks his heart to see mothers wait to hear whether or not their boy's name will be called, little sisters looking confused and sad, fathers (if they have one) trying to be strong when they're just as scared.

Sid gives his mother a hug and his sister a pat on the head before walking over to the victor's circle. The only other people who sit there are Mario Lemieux (his mentor) and Marc-Andre Fleury (he won two years ago under Sid's mentoring).

"Everybody welcome!" Nathalie Lemieux, Mario's wife, announces with sadness in her eyes as usual, "I am honored to welcome you to the one hundredth World Games!" She smiles apologetically, "I know we are all very excited!" She pauses licking her lips nervously, "Since this is such a ... special occasion, President Michael Richardson and Head Game maker David Beckham have informed me that .. one of the previous victors will be rereaped along with a new tribute."

Sidney clenches his jaw shut to keep it from falling open. He had such a hard time time three years ago. He can't go through it again. He already has to many nightmares. He's gotten more than enough blood on his hand (literally, he left the arena soaked unit). He can't leave his family .. Not again .. they already suffered ...

But he doesn't want Mario or Marc to go back in either. Mario has health problems and a family. Marc just had a baby with his wife, Veronique, and he's so innocent and sweet and .. and ..

"The first tribute is .." Nathalie reaches her hand into the bowl, shuffling through the three pieces of paper. The nerves showing in her eyes as she slowly unfolds the paper, "M ... M .. M-Mario Lemieu-ux."

Mario frowns, grabbing the arms of the chair to help himself up.

Sidney instantly reacts, springing up from his chair, "I volunteer!"

"Sid-" Mario begins to protests, but Sidney grabs his hand.

"Its alright."

Sidney's heart beats furiously and his legs tremble a bit as he walks onto the stage. He's not going to let his emotions show. He won't let the Capital know the hollering and crying of his baby sister is once again breaking him.

Nathalie hugs him, "Thank you so much."

"I'd never let him go through this again." Sid mumbles as she pulls away,

Mario's wife wipes the tear from the corner of her eye and reaches into the second bowl, "And the other tribute is .. Claude Giroux!"

Claude, a small ginger that's only a year younger than Sidney, walks wth shaky legs and panic set into his eyes. Sid nods sympathetically, remembering how he himself looked, how Marc had looked, which wasn't much different.

The tributes shake hands upon Nathalie's request. Sidney shows absolutely no emotion. Especially not when his best friend James rushes over to Trina to help with a sobbing and trashing Taylor.

"No again! I can't lose my Sid again!" She hollers.

Sidney just bites the inside of his cheek. He's doing this for Mario, the man who saved his life before, and he'll do it again.

A guard takes Sidney by the elbow, ushering him into the back of a van. Claude is forced in violently, mumbling pleas in French.

"Please, please. This all has to be a mistake! I-I can't fight for my life!"

The guard slams the door closed, making Giroux wince.

"It'll be okay .. Just calm down. If you keep freaking out, they'll sedate you until we get to our night quarters. Trust me, you'll need this time more than you think." Sidney consoled the distressed man.

Claude sniffles, "S-Sedate me? That's legal?"

Sid half smiles, "Claude, they're making us fight for our lives. I highly doubt they care whether or not that's legal."

The ginger nods, "I know. I'm just .. I'm so scared. I don't wanna die."

Sidney grabs his hand, "Nobody does. Just .. don't think about dying. Think about coming home."

Claude wipes his face, offering a small smile of gratitude.

"Now get some sleep. You'll need it." Sid instructs, crossing his arms over his chest and shutting his eyes.

"Sid?"

"Hm?"

"Good luck."

"You too."

...

Cristiano Ronaldo shifts uncomfortably in his seat. Rereaping former victors? Isn't the point of winning to never go back into the arena? Leave it to the Capital to come up with some stupid shit like this.

"The first tribute is," Carvina Carvalho, the wife of the infamous victor Ricardo Carbalho who won because the man he loved gave up his life so Ricky could come home (talk about awkward for his wife ..).

"Cristiano Ronaldo dos Santos Aveiro!"

Without missing a beat, Cris springs up, pointing a stunning smile at the camera as he struts to the stage.

"And the second tribute is ... Joāo Pereira!"

The two shakes hands before being lead into a van, Cris blows a kiss to no one in particular and wipes an imaginary tear from his eye (showing off for the cameras of course).

Joāo snarls at him once the doors are shut, "Don't think winning the Capital over will win you the Games again. Because it won't."

Cristiano smirks, "That is no way to make friends."

"I don't want you as a friend fuck face."

"Good," Cris chuckles, "Then I promise that you'll be my first kill. But don't worry. It'll be slow, painful, and you'll wish you never disrespected Cristiano Ronaldo."

Joāo snorts but keeps quiet the rest of the ride.

If theres one thing to know about Cristiano, its that he never breaks a promise.

...

Nicklas Bäckström stands beside previous victor Sebastian Larsson with his head up high. Nobody will believe him, but Nicky is going to win. He doesn't think he will, doesn't hope he will. Nope. He may not be big, and he may not be strong. But he is smart, fast, and good with weappns. That is why he is going to win over the Capital. He is going to kill his last opponent. He is going to look every family he encounters on the Victory Tour in the eyes and tell them he killed their son. Then he will go home, hug his mother, and he'll be done with the Games until next year.

And there's nothing anyone can do about it.

Notes:

Wow. That was a lot of words and some long paragraphs. If you actually took the time to read this, I thank you.

I know the 'World Games' is kinda lame, but I couldn't think of anything else. I will accept suggestions though ..

Don't be afraid to ask questions or voice your concerns. I appreciate ALL feedback, especially constructive criticism. I'm still kind of working out some of the kinks as I write.

Anyways, thank you for showing interests in my unusual mixing of people. I know its odd, but I've always written about odd things.

Thank you.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

_Sidney stepped onto the plane after his fellow tribute, his friend, Kris Letang, who wasn't nearly as nervous as he is, _

_"Hello Kris, Sidney. I'm Mario Lemieux and I'll be your mentor." He guides his tributes to the seats to sit down. "I'm sure you're nervous as hell, which is normal. Honestly, I'd be a little scared if you weren't." He pauses, "Only one of you will come back alive, and thats if your lucky." He looks at them both, "However, I don't want you to think about that until you are literally dying. You need to stay relaxed. You absolutely can not worry about anything or anyone, and you can not be scared of death. That will get you killed in this world." _

_Sidney's brows knit together, "But how can we not be scared when we could die in -" _

_"Don't think about dying. Don't think about not coming home. Because in the end, everyone comes home .. Just not in the same way." _

_Kris blinks rapidly, "Well then .. what do we think about?" _

_Mario grabs both of their hands, "Surviving." _

The door opens with a loud creak, making Sidney's eyes pop open. He hadn't been sleeping, but he wanted to show Claude he didn't have to worry or be scared. That will get you killed in this world.

The tributes are wordlessly dragged out of the van and all but shoved up the stairs and into the plane that would take them to the Capital. The walls of the plane are as white on the outside as it is on the inside. There are two rows of ten seats along each side. On their right is the cockpit. Down the aisle on their left are four bedrooms, one for each person. Claude's eyes flicker around and he nervously bites his lips. Sidney, on the other hand, lays down across the plush seats, extending his body fully and relaxing as much as possible.

Marc comes in from the cockpit, "Hello Claude. I'm Marc-Andre Fleury, but you can call me Marc. I'll be your mentor."

"Its .. its n-nice to meet yo-ou." Claude says

"Stop stuttering kid. The Capital won't like that." Mario says, plopping down in the seat next to Sid's feet.

"I wasn't much different." Marc says,'"If anything, I was more of a mess than he is."

"Yeah. But I was your mentor. See how well I've shaped you into this wonderful man? Veronique should send me a thank you letter." Sidney chirps, making Mario chuckle.

Fleury's nose wrinkles up in pretend disgust as he grabs his tribute's elbow to pull him into one of the bedrooms, "Whatever. Claude and I are going to talk some strategy so we can beat you."

"In your dreams sweetheart." Sid says as the door closes behind them.

"I'm not going to let that happen." Mario speaks quietly.

Sidney sits up, pulling his knees to his chest, "I know."

"I-I .. I don't know how to thank you for volunteering. I mean .. I .. I-"

Sid grabs his mentor's hand, "Just don't let me get killed out there. That's all the thanks I need."

Lemieux nods, squeezing his hand, "But what if-"

"Don't even. I won three years ago because you told me not to think about death, but about surviving. Unless you're saying that everything that helped me win the Games was a load of bullshit." Sidney interrupts.

Mario grins, "I know .. its just .. I love you. You know that right?"

"I wouldn't be the one going back in there if i didn't."

"Cristiano, good to see you again." Fábio Coentrāo, his mentor, says, shaking his hand.

Cris smiles, "I wish it were under different circumstances."

"To bad I'm not your mentor this time." Ricardo Carvalho, his previous mentor, squeezes his shoulder.

Joāo walks by them with a snarl and his fists clenched.

"Still root for me to win, yes?" Cristiano jokes.

Carvina gives him a one armed hug, "You know I will."

"Get some sleep and we'll talk strategy in the morning." Fábio instructs.

Cris didn't have to look at his watch to know it was 9:20 p.m., exactly four hours from the reaping. But he does it anyways and pretends to be shocked, "I'm going to need my beauty rest if I'm going to win over some Capital hearts."

Carvina giggles, kissing his cheek, "Goodnight dear."

Cristiano quickly goes to his room, which is adjacent to Joāo's. He should be upset with himself for having to fake around his friends ..

Cris snorts to himself. Friends? What friends? Those people would never give a damn about him if he never entered the Games. He'd still be that little orphan who sold his body to powerful, older men and women to survive. Ricardo and Carvina are selfish, soulless products from the Capital. They don't know what it feels like to fight for their life.

And Fábio. Fábio, Fábio, Fábio .. Always so seemingly innocent. But he's really just as heartless and self obsessed as they are. He used to be nice, he used to care. Then he won the Games and went to the Capital and became like all the others.

Cristiano doesn't trust anyone. Can't afford to. Not in life, and not in the Games. Just like last time, he'll charm his way to the arena, he'll kill when he has to, and he'll win. Then everyone will pretend to like him, he'll force a smile, and everything will be the same.

Its always been tat way. And it'll always be that way. In this world, you don't have friends, they'll stab you in the back. In this world, you don't trust anyone because everyone wants to live and will do anything to keep their heart going. In this world, you don't love, love hasn't been a real word in a hundred years.

In this world, you don't have emotions, emotions get you killed.

Notes:

After Sidney's dad died, Mario became like a father to him. He basically raised both of the Crosby children along side his own for a long time.

Cristiano's father died when he was little, and his mother left for unknown reasons when he turned thirteen. After that he became a prostitute and went into the Games not long afterwards ..

Just a little clarification for anyone who needed it.

Thank you for everyone who has taken the time to read this. I've worked very hard and I hope it lives up to your standard. please leave any questions or concerns in the comments and I'll get back to you. Thank you for everything.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Sidney and Mario don't talk strategy. He already knows what his mentor will say, he's heard it (and used it) before. Another time would be useless.

They wait until Marc-Andre and tribute are done with their pre-Capital discussion before settling into Claude's room to watch the reaping on TV. Sidney is slightly bothered because he knows most, and somewhat likes, of the other mentors in different countries.

France is shown first picking Stephane Da Costa and Lucas Digne.

"Aw! I like Steph!" Marc pouts.

Sidney snorts, "I promise not to kill him for you."

Marc chuckles, "Deal."

Next is Argentina. Carlos Tevez and Lionel Messi are picked. But Michael Híguaín steps in for Leo, who was Higuain's tribute the year prior to Sidney's victory. Mario makes a clucking noise with his tongue that means he knows Michael or doesn't like Messi (who does?)

After that is the US, selecting Keith Ballard and Jozy Altidore.

"Not Keith." Marc groans, covering his face with his hands.

"Do you like everyone?" Sid asks playfully,

Spain follows with Jesus Navaz and Sergio Busquets. England has two volunteers, Nathan Walker and Steven Gerrard. Sidney can't help but to roll his eyes. Steven is a self centered piece of shit who thinks he's God at the ripe age if twelve. The only reason he won was because the Capital loves him and sponsors were giving him everything he needed.

Sidney turns his head to look at Marc, who is equally disgusted. He opens his mouth to say something, but his attention is snapped back to the TV when Carvina Carvalho says Cristiano Ronaldo.

Sid feels pathetic the way his heart flutters and he slowly melts as he watches every graceful movement the man on the television makes. The beautiful smile he flashes for the camera makes Sidney's breath hitch.

He completely forgot there were other people in the room until the German flag appeared on the screen.

Sidney blushes brightly, "Sorry."

Marc nudges him, "We all get crushes. No big deal."

"Just don't let it affect your game." Mario says.

Sidney opens his mouth to say something, but freezes when the woman escort on the screen announces the first German tribute.

"Marcel Goc."

No, no, no .. This has to be some kind of sick, sick joke. This man shouldn't be allowed back into the arena, or near anyone for that matter.

Marcel won the Games seven years ago, everyone knew it was going to happen because he's a beast of a man. He killed nearly everyone with his bare hands (literally bare hands).After finishing the ninty-third World Games off with a bang after breaking every bone in Marc Staal's body and cutting out his heart to show the camera, he was deemed mentally disturbed and still spends his life in an institution of the insane.

Well, now he'll be in the arena with nineteen other people. How fantastic.

"We're fucked." Claude says sadly.

No one disagress.

The escort on the screen waits for the loud cheering to die down before saying the next name, "Mario Götze."

Sweden comes next, selecting Nicklas Bäckström and Sebastian Larsson. Sid feels bad for Sebastian barely made it of there the first time. Its unlikely he'll do it again. And Nicklas looks rather small, so it's unlikely Sweden will have a Victor this year.

Last but not least (or maybe it is least) is Canada. Sidney hides his face in Mario's shirt. They most likely got a shot of Taylor and he can't see that right now, it would break him.

His mentor is pulling him up before he realizes its over, guiding him into Sid's room where Mario gently places him on the bed.

"I love you son."

"I love you too d-dad."

The older man places a kiss on his forehead before leaving. Sidney allows himself to feel a little happy.

Because tomorrow, it all begins.

...

Cristiano paces around his room like a mad man.

Marcel. Goc. Marcel fucking Goc. Why would they allow this animal to leave his institution? Why did they even put his name in the bowl?

"Fucking Capital." Cris growls.

He misses the tribute for Sweden, but who cares? The only truly successful Victor they ever had was Zlatan Ibrahimovic. But they'd never send a man with only one arm into the arena.

Well, then again-

Cris's thought is stopped by the woman on the screen - Natalie? Natalya? - who represents Canada stuttering out Mario Lemieux's name.

Not even a millisecond later, a boy who looks no older than sixteen volunteers for, who Cristiano assumes, was his mentor.

Cris slowly sinks down onto the couch, his brain racking to try and remember what his name is. But nothing comes. His face is definitely familiar.

Cris smirks as he remembers how the young Canadian boy would scrunch his nose or roll his eyes whenever Gerrard tried to start some stupid shit (who does Steven think he is? he's from England for fuck's sake).

The next kid (Cris doesn't really care what his name is because he doesn't look like he'll make it past the first day) looks scared shitless. While the other guy has a face of stone, even as a baby screams from the crowd.

The Capital's flag waves on the screen, followed seconds later by President Michael Richardson, a fifty year old man with gold contacts and a full head of smooth, brown hair.

"Hello citizens of the world," Richardson says in his stupid accent that makes Cris's skin crawl, "I know that you are as excited for this year's Games as I am."

Cristiano snorts, "Bullshit."

"I am proud to announce that this year's tributes will land in the Capital early tomorrow morning." The President grins - fucking grins - "All the events after that will be the same. But, after the tributes enter the arena, there will be some .. altercations to make the one hundredth World Games the best of them all."

Cris shuts off the TV and slams the remote down to prevent himself from throwing it at the wall.

"Fuck the Capital." He growls.

Fuck. Them. All.

...

Nicklas, Sebastian, Zlatan, and Henrik Lundqvist skip watching the reaping so they can sit on Nicky's bed while eating the Capital's finest Roman Noodles. Nicky doesn't have to use chopsticks while he eats, but he does it anyways.

"Whose your favorite tribute to ever win?" Nicky asks, "Besides Zlatan and Henrik, of course."

Sebastian smirks, "Coentrāo."

Nicklas almost chokes on a noodle, "Fábio Coentrāo? Really?"

"He is the smartest guy to ever go into the arena." Sebastian objects.

"Because he stayed on top of the Cornucopia the until there was just one more person and curb stomped him into the ground? That makes him smart?" Henrik asks, raising his eyebrows.

"No, it makes him a fucking genius." Zlatan says.

Henrik rolls his eyes, "Then who's your favorite, Nicky? I'm sure you have a more reasonable answer."

Bäckström thinks it over for a second, "Crosby. Definitely."

"That awkward Canadian kid?" Sebastian snorts, "And you're making fun of me?"

"Crosby won when he was fourteen and actually killed a few people." Nicklas points out.

"He's like, sixteen now, right? It'd be a shame for him to go back in." Henrik says.

"He mentored Fleury the year after he won, there's no way he'd let his mentor go into the arena again. He'd be a piece of shit if he did." Zlatan says.

Sebastian lightly elbows him, "I would've volunteered if you were called."

"Yeah, and what about me fuck face?" Henrik questions.

"I would hope someone killed you soon so that I wouldn't have to look at your ugly mug again." Larsson jokes.

Nicky awkwardly stares at his noodles. It kind of sucks not to be close with any of them. But its okay, he'll have plenty of time to bond next year.

"So," Zlatan begins, "what do you think your strengths are?"

Notes:

By the way, Michael Richardson is my OC, so please don't go looking him up on Google or something because he isn't real.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope that it wasn't to terrible and it was worth your time. Any feedback would make my day.

Please forgive me for any mistakes. I didn't proof read this because im eager to start the next chapter (which I'm working on as you read this).

Once again, thank you.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

David Beckham's fingers move so fast it's nearly a blur. Wayne Gretzky stares at him with a spark of curiosity.

"Is there something I can help you with?" David asks, not even looking up to see who it is.

"Richardson wants me to check up on you to see how the arena is doing." Wayne explains, crossing his arms over his torso.

Beckham peers at the other man through his lashes, a devilish smirk on his face, "Its coming along quite well. The .. finishing touches will be added on later this afternoon."

Wayne chuckles darkly, returning the smile, "that's going to make the President's day."

Gretzky leaves without another word. Neither of them knew Vice President Roger Goodell had been listening on the whole conversation.

The Games are going to be interesting this year, Roger thinks as he goes back into his own office make a phone call.

Sidney woke up at five a.m., leaving an hour and a half to get ready.

He trudges into the shower, turning the heat on the intense his muscles and make him relax. The shampoo and conditioner have a sweet coconut smell while the body soap is a weird honey that he really doesn't want to use but really has no choice because the one thing the Capital does not have is soap variety.

The towels are so soft and warm - he believes them to be made of cotton from a factory in Egypt, but he may be wrong - as he wraps it around his body. He almost doesn't want to take it off, u he knows he has to.

Sid picks out a simple, black button up and jeans that fit him nicely. It really doesn't matter what he puts on because he all be stripped down to his skivvies and violated by his stylists once he gets in their hands.

He groans to himself. He hated his stylists last time. Such greedy little fuckers. They always complained about how terrible their lips were because they ran out of purple lipstick or rainbow eye shadow, always gossiping about the tiniest rumor. Ugh, it makes him sick.

Sidney is drying his hair off with his towel when the door opens. He doesn't have to check to know who it is.

Sid tosses the towel onto the ground, "Hey Mario."

Mario sits on the bed next to him, "You got this, okay?"

"My stylists better not be freaks. I'll kill them."

Mario chuckles, "Its out of my hands sweetheart."

Sid stands up and drags himself into the bathroom to blow dry his hair. "How much time do we have?"

"Ten minutes."

Sighing, he puts the blow dryer on high and does his best to make himself look nice.

Sidney manages to dry his hair for the most part and slick it back withmmal hairgel when the guards bust in and drag him out. He's practically shoved into a limo that will take them to the airport.

Mario puts his arm around the teenager's shoulders and puts a hand on his knee, "You got this."

Sid relaxes into the warmth of the man sitting next to him, "I know."

The ride takes sometime between ten and fifteen minutes. Mario grabs his wrist as they get out the car. Sidney tries not to be shocked that the Capital's citizens look freakier than last time. Apparently animal face paint is in right now.

Marc ''accidentally'' knocks into him as they go into the larger building they'll be staying in.

Nathalie shoves Marc put of her way (playfully of course .. or well maybe) and pulls Claude over to walk next to her, "Here's the plan, you're going to go in there, file some paper work. Then, I'll show to your rooms. You'll have five minutes to get adjusted to your surroundings before your stylists will come in and make you look gorgeous. After that, you'll be taken to your chariot where you'll do the parade."

"Then what?" Claude asks, not nearly as nervous as yesterday.

"That'll be up to your mentors dear."

Sid and Claude are taken to the front desk where they get finger printed and handed a clipboard. Its the simple stuff. Full name, date of birth, home town, family members, address.

When he comes to the last question, what's your sexual orientation, he freezes, his pen hovering above the circles.

Why do they even care? Sidney thinks.

He glances over at Claude, whose staring at the paper as if it will burn. The ginger finally bubbles in Het., but Sid fines that to be a lie.

Huffing, he bubbles in the Hom. bubble before handing it back to Nathalie who set in the basket.

"You'll be staying on the seventh floor with Portugal and England." Nathalie says as thy enter the elevator.

"Why?" Sidney whines, preparing himself for the temper tantrum he knows is coming.

Nathalie elbows him in the side, "Oh shut up. He get to share a floor with Cristiano Ronaldo. Be happy."

Sid groans, slumping against the wall, "You're not helping."

"Stop being a little bitch."

Claude snorts a laugh while Sidney stares at her with a hurt expression.

"Nathalie!" Sidney whines, his voice going up in octave.

The elevator door dings open and Nathalie walks out of it with a speed that nobody should have when wearing six-inch heels.

The hallway is a rectangular shaped. The walls are baby blue and the floor a hideous orange. There are three rooms on each side that are spaced far apart. Sidney's room is at the end on the right, a plague on the door that has his name, year he won, and his country. Claude is the first on the left.

"I will see you in about .. three, four hours. Good luck." Nathalie says as the elevator door closes in front of her.

Sighing, Sid opens his door, stepping inside and letting it shut behind him. The people here may be freaky, but the rooms are always beautiful.

The walls are red and the carpet white to represent his home country's flag. The bed is big enough for at least ten people back home. The blanket is decorate with falling maple leafs. The multiple pillows are black with frilly edges. The room even has its own living room. The color of the walls continue, but the floor is wood. A black couch is set in the middle with a glass coffee table and plasma TV that hangs on the wall. There's no need for a kitchen besides a mini fridge because there's a dumbwaiter made of glass that serves you food after you order it.

This room is definitely the only good thing about the Capital.

Sidney manages to sit down on the couch before the sound of the door swinging open makes him jump up.

Here we go, more freaks.

Sidney walks to the door and has to do a double take because the three people (two men, one woman) standing in front of him look ... normal.

"Are .. are you my stylists?"

One of them step forward, extending his hand that Sid takes cautiously, "Hello, my name is Jonatjan Toews, but you can call me Jonny or Tazer."

"More like Captain Serious." The other man answers.

Jonny sends him a glare over his shoulder, "This is my ignorant partner Patrick Kane, he goes by Pat or Kaner. He likes to dance, rather stupidly -"

"My Kaner Shuffle is way better than you attempting the moonwalk!"

"And this is Irina Shayk. She-"

"I can introduce myself." Irina says, gently pushing Jonny out of the way to shake Sidney's hand. "I am Irina, but you may call me Iri if you choose."

Sid blushes, "Well .. its nice to meet you .. all."

Irina guides him into a bathroom that is way to large for anyone.

Sidney blushes a bright red as Irina tells him to strip down to his boxers (and Kaner tries to watch him without Jonny noticing).

That kind of partners, huh? Sidney thinks as he throws his pants into his pile of clothes.

Jonny hands him white shorts that go to his knees. The jersey he hands him is red, the leaf on the front and his name on the back are white. Do these people not know there are other colors they can use?

Kaner sets down a pair of white socks that stop at the ankle with matching red and white Nike shoes on the floor, "I'm sorry."

"Not your fault."

The stylists don't actually pick out their outfits until they do the interviews. So the monstrosity that is this outfit is actually not their fault.

"Not about that, "Pat says, pulling a box out of his pockets, "about this."

Sidney is thoroughly confused until Kaner starts waxing his legs.

He better be sorry.

By the time his tortue os done, Sidney looks - and feels - amazing. His skin is glowing and smooth. His hair has that special stuff that smells fantastic and makes it soft. They don't slick it back like he wants to, claiming they want to save it for later.

"Can't use all your tricks at once." Irina says.

Unfortunately, they put makeup on his face. Its mainly just blush and foundation, but it still makes him feel weird because he's not used to things being on his face. The shoes, despite being stupidly hideous, are comfortable. They have that memory foam thing to make it feel like he's walking on clouds.

It feels completely different from last time. Maybe its he's secretly getting special treatmt because he's a Victor.

Sid finds Claude in the hallway looking at his shoes.

"It feels like I'm walking on clouds!"

Damn it.

"They weren't like this last year so I think they're new." Sidney says.

Claude's head jerks up at him (he assumes the ginger didn't know he was there), his eyes widen and his mouth falls open.

Sidney glances over his shoulder, "What?"

Giroux snaps his mouth shut and blinks a few times, "Sorry. You, uh .. You look, you look nice."

Sid blushes (though it probably doesn't affect his appearance), "Thanks. You, er, look good too."

Claude looks at his feet, his cheeks turning a cherry red, "Thanks."

"Don't sweat it man." Sidney says as he guides his fellow tribute to the elevator.

Riding on that fucking chariot is easily the stupidest fucking thing Cristiano has ever done in his life. And he's done some pretty stupid shit.

Him and Joāo are wearing crimson red jersey and black shorts. They look completely fucking stupid.

The only good thing about this is that he can wear these lovely, memory foam filled Nike shoes that most definitely came from heaven.

Joāo stands there with a hideous snarl on his face. Cris blows kisses to no one and waves at the crowd of people he never wanted to see again.

Stepping off the stupid chariot is the happiest moment of his life. He literally can not stop grinning.

"You did fabulous." Carvina gushes.

"Remind me to send your stylists a special thank you note." Fábio says, smirking proudly.

I'm the reason you're still here, Cris thinks, "Definitely."

"Fuck. Off." Joāo growls loudly, stomping away from a frustrated Ricardo.

"I can't stand that kid." Ricardo mumbles to his wife.

Carvina chuckles, "Just wait a few more days sweety. He'll be out of our hair."

Fábio joins in on the conversation, but Cris doesn't listen. His attention is somewhere else.

More like on someone else.

The man's back is turned to him. His shoes are red and white. Shorts a pure white that fits his large ass perfectly. Jersey a(n unsurprising) red, the white letters spell the name 'Crosby'.

Based on the colors, Cris knows he's Canadian. The other guy, a ginger, looks nervous, which makes Cris assume he's the rookie. That means this Crosby character is the one who volunterred.

Why couldn't Cris have been one of those World Games nut who knows every tribute in existence?

"Cris dear, are you alright?"

"Yes, just scoping out the competition."

Cristiano turns back to his mentor, "Its time for us to start training, yes?"

Fábio smiles, "Yes, I believe so."

Cris forces a grin, "Fantastic. I'm dying to begin."

"That'll be the only form of dying you'll be doing." Ricardo says, squeezing his shoulder.

Carvina links arms with her husband and Fábio, chattering away about how some Capital whore is sleeping with another one's partner. Cris rolls his eyes, apparently the only thing these people care about is ''romance''.

He can't help but to look over his shoulder and he happens to catch Crosby's eyes. The Canadian breaks the contact quickly, grabbing the arm of his fellow tribute and guiding him to another destination.

Cris isn't ashamed to say he watched him walk away, because he's not.

Notes:

I'm sorry if this was weird. It was supposed to be weird. The Capital is weird. So the people are freaks. Except Sid's stylists, they're just special.

Please forgive me for any typos. I proof read it to the best of my abilities, but sometimes I miss things.

Thank you for taking the time to read this. I hope it lived up to your standards, whatever they may be. Any form of feedback would be greatly appreciated. Thanks again.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

After going back into their rooms and changing into workout gear, the mentors bring their tributes into the training center.

Sara Carbonero, fiance of Victor and mentor Iker Casillas, is standing in the middle of the center surrounded by multiple stations. She looks up from the clipboard she was scribbling on with a huge grin.

"Hello tributes!" Sara greets, "I see that the parade has finished a little early, but that's the fine." She bats her eyelashes, "To my left, we have the weapon stations, but it also extends to the back. To my right, there are the survival stations that you will need if you want to survive in the arena," She chuckles, "Everyone play nice now! Anyone who tries to fight will face consequences that may or may not end your life!"

How is she not in an institution? Sidney thinks as she struts away.

"I'm sure Marc already told you this, but I'm going to say it anyways. Don't go to what your best skill is, save that for the Makers. Here, you practice the things you aren't to good at." Sidney instructs.

"But I'm not good at anything." Claude mumbles,

"I'm sure there's something." Sidney says.

The ginger shakes his head.

Sid grabs his fellow tribute by the shoulders, "Listen, we have a better chance of survival if we stick together. That being said, I'm not going to work with someone who can t do anything and doesn't have confidence in himself. Unless you're trying to fuck us both over, I'm going to need you to believe in yourself. Got it?"

Claude's eyes brighten up, "Yes, I understand."

Sidney smiles, "Great we'll work on snares first. If you want to last long, you'll need food. The easiest way to catch it is by using a snare," he explains as they walk to the far right corner.

"Okay."

...

Cristiano has walked into the training center planning to work on his snares. He'd been quite fabulous at it last time, but he needs some practice at it.

Then he saw Crosby and the ginger kid going over there and started heading the other direction.

I have no reason not to go over there Cris thinks, He'll be dead before I even think about him.

Cris goes over to the camouflage station to wait them out.

...

David smiles brightly at his work. This'll do just fine indeed.

"David, have you finished reviewing the arena? I'm sure our President would like to hear what you think as soon as possible." Roger asks casually.

Beckham's head jerks up at the sound of his voice, his eyes wide and surprised, "Oh .. oh. Yes. I just, uh, finished it actually. About to bring it to him now."

"Would you like me to take it-"

"No, no, no," David scrambles to get out of his seat and out the door, "Its fine, I've got it."

"Are you sure? I'm-"

"I got it. Goodbye Roger!"

There's definitely some sneaky shit going on around here, Roger thinks, And I'm not going to give up until I know what it is.

David looks around frantically. He barely sees Gary walk around the corner.

"Gary!" He whispers harshly.

Gary snaps his head into David's direction. Beckham gestures for him to come here.

"What?"

"I think Roger is catching on."

Bettman's eyes widen, "How?"

"I don't know. I was sitting in my office, finishing the review. Then he comes in and acts all suspicious." David whispers.

Gary runs a hand over his face, "You sure you're not being paranoid?"

"No! This isn't like last year. I promise."

Bettman sighs, "Okay. I'll take care of him."

David visibly relaxes, "Thank you."

"How did it go with Mike?"

"Fine. He didn't suspect a thing."

"Besides the Goodell thing, we're good, right?"

"The mentors are on board, the plan is in motion. We got this man." David says.

Gary sighs, "Good, good. I'll talk to Roger tomorrow, okay? Just don't worry about it for now."

"Okay. Yes. I got it. Thanks."

Mario paces around Fleury's room as they wait for their tributes to get back from training. He's slowly but surely starting to panic. The Games start in a few days. That means Sidney will go back in and fight for his life. In a few days he may never see Sidney again .. oh god ..

"Mario, calm down." Marc says, grabbing the older man's shoulders "You need to stop. You're no good to anyone if you're freaking out, okay?"

Mario sighs, "I know. I know."

The door cracks open and David pokes his head in, "We're all set to go, okay?"

Mario tenses, ""'Kay."

He leaves without another word.

Marc looks at him confused, but Mario shakes his head.

"Just old people stuff." He lies.

Fleury looks unconvinced but drops the subject.

The door opens again, but this time Sidney walks in covered in sweat.

"Claude did really well today. He's really good with his hands." Sid says, smiling with pride.

"Really? I thought he would've went to camouflage and tried to hide himself." Marc says, half joking half serious.

Sidney wipes his forehead with one hand, keeping the other on his hip. Mario licks his lips and clears his throat.

"And how did you do?" He asks.

"I did okay, I guess. I mean, I'm a little rusty, but its nothing I can't fix." Sidney replies, smiling at him.

"Tomorrow I want you to work on your weapons. I have a feeling you're gonna need them." Mario instructs.

Crosby nods, "Okay. We could both use the training."

"Good. Now get some sleep." Mario says as he leaves.

"Thanks for taking Claude under your wing." Marc says.

"No problem man."

Fleury pats Sid's cheek before making his friend leave.

He can't stop wondering what David and Mario were talking about. What's with all the secrecy?

Marc has heard somethings. But it was all just gossip. Or that's what he thought.

He sighs. The Capital is getting to him.

Notes:

Things are starting to heat up. It seems everyone has a secretor two,

Thanks for reading this. Sorry for any mistakes. All feedback would be appreciated!


	6. Chapter 6: Seventy-Two Hours

Chapter 6: Seventy-Two Hours

Summary:

The count down to the World Games begins as the stress and pressure starts to pile on and unlikely alliances are formed.

Notes:

I was trying to make Cristiano sort of have a Haymitch mentality, but without being an alcoholic. I hope that transferred through.

Through writing this, I realized I sort of made Sidney like Katniss with the whole family thing and have a normal stylist and being an underdog and what not .. I never intended to do that, and I hope I'm the only one who sees it that way.

Sorry for the long wait. I've been working on another fic while trying to work out the kinks in this story.

Thank you for reading and for all the support. Feedback is greatly appreciated :)

Marc pulls Sidney aside and tells him to let Claude do his own thing at practice. Sid worked alone last time, and he planned on doing it again. Claude needed to make an alliance, and he couldn't do that if he's always following Sidney.

Sid decides the best time to tell Claude by sitting him down in his room and having a one-on-one talk.

"You're going to do your own thing tomorrow, alright?"

Claude looks at him as if he has three heads, "What?"

"You need to find out what Claude Giroux is good at. You have to explore yourself. Make some friends while you're at it. Getting close to the Careers might be good." Sidney attempts to explain in a way that doesn't insult his fellow tribute.

The ginger looks incredibly hurt, "Why would I want to be with them when I have you?"

Sid sighs, "Yeah, but I might not always be there."

"But, but-"

Sidney grabs him by the shoulders, "Listen Claude, I am your friend. So I'm going to do everything I can to make sure you come out of there alive."

"Why? No one wants me to come back."

"What are-"

"Don't play dumb Sidney," Claude sighs, "Everyone wants you to win. I can see it in the way Marc looks at me that he knows I have to die so you won't. I can see it in the way Mario looks at you that he's counting down the days until this whole thing is over and you'll be safe .. and I'm alright with that."

Sid opens his mouth to say something, what he doesn't know. All the words he could've said, should've said, got stuck in his throat.

"You have a family .. one that loves you. I dont. I have nothing." Claude rambles on, "You .. you deserve to come home. You deserve to take the Victory Tour again .. As long as its you that wins, I'm perfectly fine with dying."

"D-don't .. say that. You have as much of a chance as anybody."

Giroux half smiles "No I don't .. but I've came to terms with dying. Its my time .. its definitely my time."

"Don't ever say that again .. We can be allies, we can work together .. maybe they'll do another special rule change and we can both come home or .. or something."

"They won't do that .. They've already bent the rules enough."

"You don't know that."

Claude stands up, "I'll do my own thing at practice tomorrow .. right after that we have the thing with the Game makers .."

"Claude-"

"I'll make sure Marc gets you some sponsors after I die."

Claude leaves right after that, leaving Sidney in shock. He hadn't expect their talk to be good, but this was a whole new level of disastrous.

Did Marc really make it so obvious he wasn't rooting for his own tribute? He had personally never seen it. Maybe it was something that happened in their private time?

Whatever the case nay be, Sid needs to have a conversation with Marc. His tribute needs the support of his mentor now more than ever. He expected better from his own tribute.

Cristiano has a hard time sleeping. Today is the last day of practice. Tomorrow they show the Ganemakers their skills. The next day, they do the four hours later, they're stepping off their platforms and fighting for their lives.

Seventy two hours left. Seventy two hours of living. Seventy two hours before they all go back in. Before the bloodbath starts. Before the murdering happens. Before you're fighting tooth and nail to survive.

But why do they fight? What are they surviving for? To come back to a life full of suffering? Of pain? Of sleepless nights because letting your eyes shut brings back all the memories of death?

All of this to entertain the Capital. Its disgusting how they carry themselves, how they always complain about the slightest flaw in their lives

They wouldn't survive a day in his world. And he would never want to live in theirs.

Fábio pokes his head in, "You ready for your big day?"

Cris forces a smile, "Always."

Fábio chatters to him all the way to the training center. Spreading gossip about who's fake (which doesn't make any sense because this city was built on fake people) and who's sleeping with who. Cris thanks god the elevator door opens because he's seconds away from punching his mentor's lights out.

"Remember, you're better than all of them." Fábio says as the door slides close.

No shit, Cristiano thinks. Apparently he has to be reminded that he's the best everyday because he doesn't already know.

Putting the stupidity of the people who hold his life in their hands, Cris decides to work on his weapon skills. Mainly his knife throwing because he wasn't to good with the knife part (but he was good with the throwing).

And guess which lucky Canadian is at his station.

"Fuck me." Cris whispers to himself.

He isn't going to chicken out like last time. He's going to ignore the warmth in his stomach and the way his heart beat picks up and practice throwing knives even if it kills him.

Cristiano tries holding the knife several different ways. It all feels wrong and awkward, and his throwing sucks. He's prepared to just move on ..

"You're holding it wrong."

Cristiano raises an eyebrow at the Canadian, "No shit."

Crosby frowns, "Wouldn't you rather have someone show you how rather than continuously do it wrong?"

"Fine. Would you be so kind as to show me?"

Crosby purses his lips, "You have to grip the handle like this .."

For the next ten minutes, Cris listens to what the Canadian says, following his instructions. In fifteen, he hits the dummy right in the middle of its chest.

"Good job."

Cristiano smiles, "I assume I have to repay you, huh?"

"I hope you weren't expecting a free lesson." Crosby says.

Cris takes him over to the ace section, "Think you can pick this up?"

The Canadian doesn't respond, instead picking up the weapon.

"Good."

It takes only ten minutes for the other tribute to catch on and successfully cut off one of the dummies heads.

"That dummy is a piece of shit." Crosby says, throwing the axe in with the other ones.

Cris chuckles, "Save all that animosity for the arena. I'm sure you'll need it."

"Why? No one here views me as a threat." Crosby points out.

"Maybe they should."

The Canadian smirks, "They'll be more focused on getting the Careers out. Mainly the Germans."

"Maybe the Careers should be focused on trying to take you out," Cristiano says, "Especially the Germans."

"I think they should watch out for you as well. Because if you truly believe I will impact these Games in any way, you belong in the mental institution next to Goc."

Cristiano takes a step closer to the smaller tribute, "You shouldn't doubt yourself. You're smarter than most people and you're stronger than you look-"

"To be able to win, you need sponsors. I can't do that. Not when you have your charm and good looks winning over everyone of their hearts-"

"Well,if you manage to out smart everyone you won't need sponsors-"

"Okay. But you have that intimidation factor-"

"Intimidation doesn't win-"

"No. But it makes people afraid to attack-"

"But if you're smart enough you can set a trap-"

"You don't know what my first name is-

Cristiano blinks, was it that obvious? "What? Yes I do!"

Crosby crosses his arms over his chest, "What is it then?"

"Why does it matter if I know your name or not?"

"Because if you did, then you would know that I set a trap last time and won, so people would be expecting that." Crosby thinks it over, "Well, if they actually watch old footage they would. But I highly doubt they will."

"Another reason why you could win if I don't."

Crosby bites his lip, "My name's Sidney by the way. And don't you dare introduce yourself, I already know who you are."

Cristiano smiles, "Sidney, its been a pleasure. If you happen to make it past the bloodbath and want to take down the Careers, maybe we could join forces."

"Like a final two deal?"

"Just until the Careers are gone. I'd hate to be the one that kills you."

Sidney takes a moment to think it over, "I don't usually work with people, but neither do you .. so I'll make an exception for you, Cristiano."

Warmth fills Cris's stomach as his name rolls off the other man's tongue, "Fantastic and good luck."

"Good luck."

The Canadian walks away after that, leaving Cris to wonder ..

What the hell did he just agree to?

Claude had a good day. Well, as good as a day can be in his situation.

He made a friend in Swedish tribute Nicklas Bäckström. And he wants his friend to stay safe.

"Sid?"

"Yes Claude?" Sidney responds.

"If I die .. could you look after someone for me?"

Sid's eyes show pity, "Of course, of course. Who?"

"Nicklas." Claude replies.

Sidney's brows knit together, "Bäckström? The Swedish kid?"

"Yeah. He's my friend. I care about him." Claude says confidently.

Crosby hugs him, "Anything for you."

Giroux grins, "Thanks Sid, you're the best."

"Just .. don't give up on yourself. Being an underdog doesn't mean you have no chance."

"I will. Goodnight."

"'Night Claude."

He has no chance.


	7. Chapter 7: Forty-Eight Hours

Chapter 7: Forty-Eight Hours

Summary:

Time to face the Gamemakers and hope they like what they see. After all, it could save your life.

Notes:

The tribute's are given a number on a 1-10 scale. 10 being perfect, 1 they don't do anything. Having a 10 puts a target on your back, but its a compliment to receive a 9. Just a little hint before you begin reading.

Chapter 7:

David fiddles with his pen as each tribute perform their skill. The Careers were going to get a high score, they always did. The others, with the exception of maybe one or two, would receive low to medium scores.

"Who's next?" David asks.

Gary looks at the sheet, "Portugal."

Beckham tries not to smile at his partner, especially since Roger is watching them.

Joāo doesn't do .. good, but he doesn't do to bad. A solid six. Cristiano Ronaldo, one of David's favorites, does amazingly well, as expected. He wanted to put a ten, but Gary coaxed him down to a nine.

The country following that, Sweden, nearly bores him to sleep. His eyes start to droop and his head is seconds from hitting the table.

Gary pokes him in the side, "Canada's next."

David groans, sitting up straight, "Last one."

Claude Giroux - is that his name? - leaves in record time, two minutes, so David gives him a four. After that is Sidney Crosby, Gary kicks him under the table.

"I will kill you." David growls to his partner.

_Sidney's heart beat picks up. Its all become so real .. Forty eight hours left .. Forty eight hours and they go back in .. _

_His score will affect his game. If he gets a really nice score and he has a good interview, then he has a decent chance of getting sponsors. If he fails, if he does bad, if he's not charming, sponsors will go somewhere else, to someone else. There's nothing Mario can do about it. _

David scribbles 'Him?' on the corner of his paper and slides it so his other partner can see it. Wayne smirks and nods proudly.

What does he see in these people?

_Sid picks up the axe. Thankfully, its not heavy. It would've been embarrassing if he couldn't pick it up. _

_He adjusts his grip, takes a deep breath, and does exactly what Cristiano showed him. _

By the time Crosby is done, dummy parts are scattered across the room and the Gamemakers stare in awe. None of them have seen moves like that, not in a while anyways. Wayne looks like he's going to stand up and applaud.

_Sidney puts the weapon down, bows slightly, and leaves quickly. He hopes he did good .. He hopes they're impressed. _

They're impressed.

Mario wraps an arm around Sidney's shoulders as the scores are announced.

Goc gets an unsurprising ten while Gotze an eight. Ballard and Altidore solid sevens. Both from Spain eight. Walker a six and Steven a seven (which is way to high for someone as unskillful as he is). The Russians receive nines. The Argentinians and Spaniards all are given fives. Next is Periera with a six and Ronaldo with an obvious nine. Larsson gets a four, with Nicklas matching. Claude looks slightly surprised, probably expecting his friend to do better. He probably shouldn't because the Swedes have never been a favorite ..

Claude's picture shows, a four flashing next to it.

"Hey, I got a three." Marc reminds everyone in hopes of cheering up his tribute.

He looks sad, but Sidney knows he doesn't care.

The last tribute, the last picture, is Sidney. With a big ten next to his face.

"Holy fucking shit." Claude breaths.

"You and Goc? Tens?" Marc asks.

Sidney looks at them, his eyes wild with shock. He turns to Mario in hopes his mentor would understand.

"This .. this is fantastic." Mario grins.

"Fantastic? _Fantastic?!"_ Sidney asks, "Do you not understand what a ten can do?"

"Yeah. It gets you sponsors. And by god kid, you know you need them."

Sid shakes his head, "Tens put _targets_ on people's backs!"

"Targets get you sponsors-"

"No! Targets get you killed."

"Targets get you allies. Strong ones. Maybe even the Careers."

"What makes you think I want to work with them? Do I need to even bring up Kris right now?"

Mario's jaw tightens, "What they did to Kris was completely uncalled for and animalistic. I am very sorry that you lost your friend-"

"_They cut him into pieces_! I'm not just going to forgive them for that!"

Lemieux sighs, "Sidney, you can't hold grudges. Not when it could save your life."

"How is teaming with them going to save my life? They could backstab me at any moment."

"Do you have any better ideas?"

"Actually, yes I do."

Mario raises his eyebrows, "Really? Who?"

"Ronaldo and Backstrom." Sidney answers proudly.

"You mean the self centered, rich ass, backstabbing, whore and the Swedish rookie? They're going to save your life?"

"Cristiano is not a whore." Sid growls.

"And Nicky may be small, he may be Swedish, and he may be a rookie. But he's more intelligent than anybody else there. And he's a lot stronger than what he lets on." Claude says.

"Its actually a pretty smart move," Marc interjects, "I don't know Nicklas that well, but he's a sweet kid and the Capital will love him. But Ronaldo .. sponsors literally line up to help him out in any way. They're all completely in love with his charm and good looks .. Teaming up with them, along with the sponsors that will come from Sid's ten and G's interview, will make them the Capital's favorite team."

Mario looks skeptical, but he takes a deep breath and agrees, "Whatever you think is best. I'm sure you know better than I do."

"I do know better than you."

Mario stands up and hugs his tribute, "I know you do .. I'm just an old man stuck in his old ways."

"No, you're just a worried dad looking out for his adopted son."

Mario tenses up and pulls back, "Yeah, that must be it."

Marc and Claude say goodbye to Sidney as they leave. He wants to ask what his mentor's problem is. But, knowing Mario, he'll tell him when he's ready.

David gives Wayne a skeptical look, "You sure?"

Wayne rolls his eyes, "Yes David. God damn. This kid is really good. He'll do us and the world good."

"I still picked the better one."

"Uh no."

"I did too!"

"We're not doing this."

"You're just jealous mine is better!"

"Will you two shut the fuck up already?" Gary asks, looking annoyed.

"He started it!" Wayne and David say in unison.

Bettman rolls his eyes, "David, stop acting like a child. Wayne, stop encouraging him."

The two partners share a playful look of annoyance and go back to their work. If everything was to go as planned, they needed to get this done. They only have forty-eight hours left. There's no time for horse play.

*an hour later*

David points his finger at Wayne, merely a millimeter separating the tip and his shoulder.

"Stop touching me, you nincompoop." Gretzky demands.

"I'm not touching you!" David says, wigging his finger to prove it.

Gary groans, "Stop acting like a bunch of fucking children and get to fucking work!"

Beckham blushes sheepishly and Wayne buries himself in his papers (literally). Gary rolls his eyes. If he didn't need these two ass clowns, he'd throw them out the window.

All the while, they didn't see Roger Goodell hiding in the corner. Watching them from the shadows. Recording them from his hidden camera in the bookshelves. He can't tell what they're doing now. But he will soon enough. Then, he'd orchestrate the perfect plan to sabotage whatever they're working on.

He is, after all, an evil mastermind.

Cristiano is pleased with his score. But not nearly as much as Fabio and Carvina. The two have been sipping wine for the past hour as they gossip about the latest Capital news. Once his nine was announced, they busted out the champagne. They don't even bother to watch the other tributes. Cris doesn't intend on joining them. In fact, he's going to use the 'need to get my beauty rest' excuse to get out of there ASAP.

Just as he's about to leave, Sidney Crosby's picture appears on the screen, right beside a ten.

That's something I can drink to Cris thinks with a grin plastered to his face.

"Oh Cristiano. Come join us!" Carvina calls.

Cris does just that, taking a glass of champagne from the waitress, "What are we toasting to this evening?"

"To you, of course." Carvina giggles.

"Also to a great year, a great season, an exciting World Games." Fabio adds.

"And to Cristiano Ronaldo, once again triumphing over his other tributes. Showing why he is, and always will be, the greatest Victor to have ever lived!" Ricardo concludes.

"Cheers." They say simultaneously and take their first drink.

"So Cristiano, have you decided to make an alliance this year? Or are you going to be a lone wolf again?" Fabio asks, downing half his glass.

"Actually, I have a tribute in mind who I would like to work with."

Carvine perks up, "Really? Who?"

"Sidney Crosby."

Ricardo raises his eyebrows, "The small Canadian boy?"

"Yes."

"Why him?"

"Because he is fast. He is strong. He is the second most intelligent person out there, besides myself obviously. He's good with weapons, even the ones that I have yet to master. He can show me things, and I show him." Cris explains.

"So are lots of people." Ricardo objects.

"It's going to be a really hard out there. Germany and Russia have brought their best competitors. Going at this by myself won't work this time." Cristiano says, "You know I don't trust a lot of people, especially not those in the arena. But after what he went through with his best friend being killed last time .. I know he's looking for an ally he won't backstab."

"You're so smart." Carvina whispers.

"I'm not saying I trust him completely. But my chances are better with him by my side than him working against me."

Ricardo squeezes his shoulders, "Carvina's right, you are smart. I want you to know, I have faith in you and I accept whatever decision you decide to make."

"I as well. But I'd like for you to run things like this by me first. That way I can talk to their mentors and work with them." Fabio says.

"My apologizes. Will do next time." Cris checks his watch, "Its getting late, I'm going to need my beauty sleep for tomorrow."

Its only eight p.m.

Fabio catches Mario Lemieux on his way back to his room.

"Hey Mario. May we have a quick conversation?" Fabio asks politely.

The older man smiles, "Of course Fabio. What may I help you with?"

"Well, it seems our tributes are going to be working together."

"Yes, Sid informed me after the scores were revealed."

Fabio nods, "I just want to let you know that I want their alliance to carry on over to us. For them to survive, we need to work together and build sponsors. Now, Cris is obviously a fan favorite here in the Capital. But I want to know what Sidney brings to the table."

"He's a great kid. The people here do love him for what he did to Kris, his friend who came in with him. He's strong, fast, and very smart. Though I'm sure Cristiano already told you all this." Mario says.

"Yes he did."

"Did he also tell you about the ten?"

"What ten?"

Mario smirks, "Sidney scored a ten."

"A ... ten?" Fabio asks, his eyes widening.

"Yep."

Fabio blinks numbly a few times before extending his hand, "Well Mario. This was a great talk. I am so happy that our tributes have decided to align themselves together. I truly believe they will be good partners, and so will we."

Lemieux takes his hand in a death lock, "I'm sure they will .. However, if you expect me to believe for even a second that you have any faith in Sidney, you're dumber than you look. I know you're only thinking about your tribute's game, as you should be. But I will send you down to that morgue along with the other tributes if you think that you are going to use my son as a way to help Cristiano's game, understood?"

"Yes sir."

Mario lets go and takes a step back, "This was a great talk."

After the older man walks away, Fabio massages his hand and replays his words over and over in his head.

_Sidney is Mario's son? _

Notes:

I'm sorry if the David/Wayne/Gary scene was lame or unfunny. I truly believe David is a complete goofball and who better to tease than Wayne freaking Gretzky? And Gary is obviously the serious one. I was attempting to lighten the mood from all the seriousness, at least for a little bit. But I feel as if I totally failed. Once again, I apologize.

I also feel that Cris would look like a total bad ass swinging an axe around, so that's what he does. Sidney gets a ten because he's a freaking perfectionist and practice his routine for hours without end. He didn't leave the training center until he was absolutely forced to.

I also apologize for any mistakes. I sort of proof read this and I'm working on my computer which doesn't have auto correct (unlike my tablet). So forgive me for any and all errors, I'm only human.

I am posting this at one in the morning, so I hope it was worth staying up to finish this chapter. I really hope you all enjoy this. Thank you to everyone who continues to read this. All feedback is welcomed :)


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